The Contract
by fernland
Summary: Muggle AU: What happens when the British Library's top investigative conservationist is forced to work for the Delacour Foundation? Art! Fleurmione!
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Muggle AU assignment! Thank you Tris for beta-ing!**

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><p>Hermione had just begun reading Harry's assessment. She had waited all morning, not too patiently, for the document because it concerned x-rays of a particularly challenging painting. She heard a message arrive and decidedly neglected it. A few minutes later, she heard another. Sighing, she woke her computer screen up.<p>

_HSlughorn: Hermione, are you at your desk?_

_HSlughorn: Would you please come to my office?_

_HGranger: What I wouldn't give to live in the 20th century, Horace._

_HSlughorn: And how would the British Library survive without you?_

_HGranger: It would still have me. I want to change centuries, not jobs._

_HSlughorn: Come see me today. It can't wait._

_HGranger: Did we get the grant?_

_HSlughorn: It's complicated._

When Hermione arrived at Horace's office, he greeted her with his well-practiced joviality, but she could tell something was awry since he almost finished a whole box of crystalized pineapple before mid-day and his eyes had a certain shifty look to them.

"Good day, Hermione."

"Hi. Did the Studio get the grant or not?" She was ready to berate Horace if he gave her the wrong answer.

"Please sit," he asked, dodging her question.

She sat and raised her eyebrows expectantly; they had a civil relationship, but she never hid her suspicion of him in all the years they'd worked together.

Horace coughed, straightening his vest before he began. "You know how important you are to the British Library—"

"Where are you going with this?" Hermione asked, trying and failing to hold back her rising temper.

"We know you've had countless job offers since your first day here. It always tickles me that you choose to stay."

"I don't conserve art for the money. If I did, I'd be making six figures with a private firm."

"Yes, yes, of course," He agreed. "Let me get to the point, Hermione—the grant has stipulations."

Her eyes grew sharp, causing Horace to unconsciously reposition himself in his seat. "What stipulations?" she asked.

"The Delacour Foundation stipulated that we contract you to them for one year."

"I won't do it," she declared. "They call themselves a foundation when they sell art to rich people who hide it vaults!"

"They do give a lot to charity," he countered.

"You must be kidding. You know exactly what they do! This is outrageous!"

"Harry. Ginny. Ron. Luna," he said flatly.

"What about them?"

"They will lose their jobs if you don't work for the Delacour's."

It was now obvious that he didn't even attempt to defend the studio. "This is extortion!" she protested.

"This is _The Arts in Recession_," he contended, a sly smile rising from his lips.

"Don't you dare use my article to excuse your behavior! Dumbledore would have never let this happen."

Horace flinched at the name and his eyes grew cold. She knew it wasn't fair to mention Dumbledore. The memory of his gentle humanitarianism passed through her chest, leaving an ache in its wake.

"You must tell me by the end of the day," Horace warned, turning his chair from her.

Walking out, Hermione already knew she would accept the contract to protect her friends and the studio she had fallen in love with. She thought of Ron, with whom she had been slowly stumbling towards some sort of connection. Now she would have to let go of whatever potential it had. And Harry! He moved too fast; who's going to remind him to slow down and love the details of an investigation as much as the mystery? She would have to talk to Ginny about that. Then there was sweet Luna. The studio was her whole social life. At least she would still have the other three work friends. Unlike Luna, Hermione would have to completely start over.

...

...

Hermione's going away party was lovely, but her hangover was dreadful. She could barely look at the glass facade of the Delacour building without wanting to vomit. Of course, that could have stemmed from disgust rather than the after effects of alcohol. The Delacours' had been hounding her for ages, but Hermione always refused; they represented everything she hated about the art world. Now she was to be their tool for a whole year.

As she sat in the waiting lounge, Hermione vowed to keep her integrity at all costs. She stared at an oil painting of a woman kneading bread on a wooden block. Strands of hair fell in front of her face and neck; pots and pans hung all around her in the open shack she worked in. The female baker seemed thoughtful and strong.

"Toil and Love," a woman's French accented voice said.

"Exactly," Hermione replied before she remembered she was angry with Fleur Delacour. She turned to face the very person who had orchestrated the contract she loathed with every cell of her body. Hermione couldn't help but shake her head. She felt defeated, yet slightly in awe of Fleur's powers of manipulation. "You finally found a way," she said.

"You made me wait five years," Fleur answered, her eyes full of something Hermione couldn't interpret.

What did this woman really want from her? What made Fleur play such a long game? Hermione had lost count ages ago of how many social functions, lectures, symposiums, fund-raisers she had attended where someone from the Delacour Foundation approached her. She had to admit, the fact the she was finally caught in their net was remarkable—evil, but remarkable.

"Would you like my assistant to get you some coffee?" Fleur asked.

"Yes, please." Hermione didn't want to sound too grateful; but with her hangover, she really needed it.

"Adele, a coffee with light cream, please," Fleur said as she walked through her office doors.

Hermione watched the assistant nod and disappear.

"Are you coming?" Fleur called out, already in her office.

"Yeah." Hermione muttered, walking into the room slowly. It was full of gorgeous, powerful art. "How do you know how I take my coffee?"

"We sat together 3 weeks ago at the Children's Hospital's art fundraiser," Fleur reminded her.

Hermione remembered that she sat at a ten-person table, but she couldn't recall talking to Fleur. "Oh, I forgot," she mumbled, as her eyes roamed appreciably over the walls.

"Take your time. I'm glad you like my collection," Fleur said.

At the word 'collection', Hermione remembered all the private firms helped by the Delacour Foundation to continually out bid government-funded galleries for exorbitant private collections. The thought made her blood boil.

"What has you so suddenly sullen, Mademoiselle?" Fleur asked, noticing Hermione's expression change.

"You see the face of someone who hates everything your foundation stands for," Hermione explained.

"I hope in time you will change your mind, Hermione."

"I doubt it," she replied. Remarkably, Fleur seemed sincere, but Hermione didn't care; she was edgy and sad, thinking of the year she was going to lose. They stared at each other in silence until a soft knock on the door interrupted them.

"Come in," Fleur announced.

Adele brought Hermione's coffee. "Thank god...I mean thank you," Hermione said, smiling. She took the drink and sipped while Fleur watched her. The brunette, feeling slightly rejuvenated, restarted their conversation. "So, what will my position be? Will I be chained to my desk?"

"Nothing of the sort. Hermione, I know this foundation carries within it the worst of the art world. Yet, I believe in the end you will see that we also delicately hold and protect art as a public good as well."

"Time will tell." Hermione said skeptically. "What will you have me do, Fleur?" Admittedly, the question came out cold. Hermione's head hurt, her body ached, and she was ready to leave Fleur's beautifully decorated cage.

"Come back tomorrow when you feel better," Fleur insisted as she began walking to the door.

Hermione studied Fleur and saw her hold the doorknob for a contemplative moment before opening it. Leaving, Hermione was faced again with the female baker on the wall. A part of her heart lifted; at least art was still in her life.

...

...

Hermione was in Fleur's waiting room early the next morning. Her body felt better, but not her mind. In fact, she became depressed the moment she entered the building. Coffee was delivered to her as she waited. She let the caffeine and the baker keep her company. When Fleur opened her door, she didn't appear too happy either. She looked on Hermione with serious eyes.

"What's going on with you?" Hermione asked as she entered the room.

"I am angry," Fleur stated simply.

"Okay. Should I come back later when you aren't?"

"No, I need you here," Fleur replied. She walked to the desk and turned to lean against her arms, her long legs crossing in front of her.

Hermione lowered her brows. "Need me here for what exactly?"

"I didn't plan to introduce you to a project that is close to my heart so soon, but it can't wait; not after the news I heard last night."

Hermione finally noticed Fleur's desk was covered in pictures of sculptures and paintings. "Luc Caudet," she whispered, now even more confused.

"The scoundrel himself, yes," Fleur replied, her voice full of venom. She looked at her desk with disdain before her attention moved straight back to Hermione. Keeping her eyes glued to Hermione, she said, "The influential paintings by Caudet's apprentice carried _her_ pain even though it was his name always in the corner."

"You read my article on Camilla Lapouge," Hermione faltered; this was puzzling. "Fleur, why are you are quoting my paper to me?"

"There is something I've wanted for years, Hermione, and I've needed you this whole time," Fleur confessed.

"First of all, that sounds very strange. What is it you need?"

"I want to find every single piece of Camilla's work and remove Caudet's name from each one."

"You could have come to me and asked me to be a consultant. Why—"

"I need more than just a consultant!" she interrupted, "I need _you_ with me to pursue the most wealthy and wicked of the art world in the name of Camilla!"

Fleur's demanding tone sent Hermione into a rage. "This is ridiculous! You manipulate my whole life because I wrote one paper? Loads of people have written about her!"

"But those people aren't the greatest investigative conservationist in all of Europe—you are," Fleur declared.

Hermione's eyes widened. "I appreciate the compliment, but this is too much."

"Lapouge's emotional instability became less of a vague abstraction as the years passed, as obviously seen in Caudet's classic painting_ Mourning Time_."

Hearing another of her quotes put Hermione further on edge. "Fleur, please stop," she pleaded. "This is madness."

"Maybe it is—but I need your brilliant mind. It sees what others can't," she asserted.

Fleur looked tired now and Hermione felt a flicker of unexpected compassion. The situation was confusing; the project sounded thrilling, but the fervor guiding Fleur's plan was what also led to the careless manipulation of Hermione's life. That pissed her off greatly. "I'm angry that you duped me into this. I don't trust you and need an incredibly good reason to work whole heartedly for this project after what you and Horace did."

"When our work is complete, Camilla Lapouge will have the international touring exhibition she always deserved—and it will be free to the public. Always."

Quickly and shocking herself, "I'll do it" fell out of Hermione's mouth.

Fleur smiled and to Hermione she seemed almost luminous in that moment.

"We leave tonight."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I am so grateful for every single follow/fav/review. I got awful marks for this piece, so it feels very validating. Thank you! I am especially grateful for TrisanaChandler13, my beta, for her encouragement and propelling me to learn about propositions.**

**This story was inspired by the torrid relationship between Auguste Rodin and Camille Claudel. Rodin was a jerk.**

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><p>"Tonight," Hermione mouthed. Excitement stirred in her body, rapidly followed by anxiety. She would have to get a sitter for Crookshanks! She needed to organize all her previous research on Camilla! She needed to figure out what the hell was happening with her life! At the last thought, Hermione felt an acute distrust of Fleur surface. "Wait, I'm supposed to just drop everything—not like leaving my job wasn't enough, to take off into the night with you on my second day of work!"<p>

"Yes, I'm sorry. Usually, there is more… flexibility when it comes to timing." Fleur replied, walking to a cabinet in the wall. "Can I repay you with something to read on the plane?"

Hermione's face hardened into a scowl as she watched Fleur unlock the cabinet and pull out a leather book. She couldn't help her curiosity though when she noticed its pages were covered in clear protective sleeves.

Fleur handed her the book. "I assume you read French."

"Of course." Hermione opened the book and gasped. "This is one of Camilla's journals!"

"I ask permission to unfairly bribe you with an artifact just this once," Fleur said almost teasingly. Then her voice got serious, "Please forgive me and fly to Vienna tonight."

Hermione glanced up at the French woman and wondered how and why all of this was even happening. How did Fleur's charisma work its way under her skin? She looked again at the journal; that's why. Camilla Lapouge's demise was devastating and horribly unfair.

"You know, Fleur, if you would've been honest with me, we could have done this together ages ago."

"I don't believe I was ready then. I played at it though," she said cryptically before walking back to her desk.

Grief; Hermione saw it hidden behind the tension in the line of her jaw, and in a micro-expression most people would have missed. It was grief that kept Fleur from truly acting before, and it was what propelled her now that she was ready.

Harry came into Hermione's mind, shaking his finger at her for analyzing Fleur like a piece of art. He always said it was rude. Bad habit or not, Hermione at least now knew Fleur's deeper motivation.

Another conclusion Hermione made in that moment: when Fleur was actually ready for what she wanted, she made sure she got it quickly. A detail Hermione couldn't take lightly considering how radically her life had changed in a matter of forty-eight hours, all because of one Fleur Delacour.

...

...

_16 December _

_Blue. Caudet, you think you understand, but there is a blue that all men hide from. They shy away from what's in my veins and you let them! You take the work from my blood and they love it because your sex is allowed the essence of the sensual while mine is not. I am shunned without your name. My blue dries out, hardens and breaks under your name._

Hermione fumed in her plane seat. France's art society would only accept Camilla's work under a man's name. Since it wouldn't support women's un-repressed sensual expression, Camilla was breaking under the effects of gendered censorship and Caudet's exploitation of her. Not only was she ensnared as his mistress, but she was also controlled financially by him. It made Hermione want to smash something. She glanced at Fleur and wondered what she had felt when reading it.

"Fleur," Hermione said gently.

"Yes," Fleur replied, her face slightly surprised at Hermione's soft tone.

"Thank you for this opportunity. Not how you went about it obviously, but thank you for giving me the chance to defend Camilla."

"You're welcome." Fleur said, smiling warmly. "Hermione, don't read her journal all at once. It is far too tragic."

"I know, but it will help me in my work. And Fleur…"

"Yes."

"This should be stored in an anoxic microclimate enclosure when…when, I'm done with my notes."

"Of course. I will make sure of it," Fleur agreed before turning back to own her book.

Quite randomly, Hermione felt nervous. She stuck her face into the journal, allowing her hair to block her from Fleur. It was an old trick; long wavy hair had its advantages at times. She wasn't sure why she felt self-conscious after her request; anyone in her line of work would make the same appeal for leather-bound artifacts.

She was reminded of the night Harry teased her. He told Hermione that overworking at the studio was making her socially feral. Admittedly, she would go on about innovative developments in art restoration or social injustices; and maybe, just maybe she decided to ignore the bored faces of her colleagues. But that didn't make her socially inept! Harry also scolded her for not telling Ron about her feelings. Socially feral! If anyone were feral, it would be Ron, not her!

Fleur's voice broke into her thoughts. The brunette didn't realize she was grumbling until she heard her name.

"You seem upset. Let's talk about tomorrow and give you a break from that journal."

"Good idea," Hermione replied. She closed the journal and got out her notepad.

"I mentioned wicked men earlier,"Fleur began. "Philip Lehner is one of them. He promised me a meeting and then canceled it to meet with our direct competition."

"Who is our competition?"

Fleur narrowed her eyes. "The Caudet Estate."

"Oh." Hermione hadn't thought about whom they'd be racing against. She hadn't actually realized there would be any racing.

"The Caudet Estate could care less about Camilla Lapouge," Fleur explained. "They've been amassing a large collection of his work, which is to be expected. But in this case, they're ignoring that certain pieces are in obvious dispute."

"Work done during the 7 years Camilla and Caudet were together."

"Yes."

"So, how did you get the meeting tomorrow rescheduled?" Hermione asked.

"It was expensive and might include a dinner date after," Fleur said casually.

"Fleur, no! Don't stoop that low," Hermione protested.

"It is not stooping—I do what _I_ want to help Camilla. Does that make you uncomfortable, Hermione?"

"No, of course not!" she replied, but in truth she was uncomfortable. Hermione turned to her notepad and began scratching words into it; her dismay at Fleur's plan lingering.

Fleur sighed. "I promise he won't get anywhere near me. He'll go on about himself while he drinks—and when he's drunk enough I will convince him to show one of his private collections to the public for 6 months to a year. That's what happened last time."

"Okay. it's your choice" Hermione said, only feeling slightly better about the situation. She made a note to read about how internalized sexism intersects with feminism and personal choice as soon as possible. Having a reading plan calmed her nerves a bit, enabling Hermione to change the subject. "What pieces will we have access to tomorrow?" she asked.

"_Yours_ and _Another Blue Night_," Fleur answered.

"_Another Blue Night_; that must be Camilla's!" Hermione said, excited.

"The journal is quite helpful isn't it?" Fleur replied, her expression pleased.

"Yes, undeniably," Hermione agreed.

They triumphantly looked at each other. Hermione noticed that Fleur's eyes held a seductive quality and decided to add another note to her growing mental list on her: the woman absolutely radiated intelligent, graceful charm. No, charm wasn't exactly the right word. Hermione settled on sexy. Fleur Delacour was sexy.

"A penny for your thoughts, Hermione," Fleur said with a perceptive look.

"I'm looking forward to seeing Camilla's work," she replied neutrally. Hermione was not inclined to mention the very traits that would be misdirected toward Philip Lehner tomorrow.

...

...

He wasn't slimy in appearances; Philip Lehner was slimy in essence. His style was sleek and tailored, his office, modern and self-important. To Hermione, his 'career' in the arts seemed incredibly fake. There was no evidence of work happening; no half-filled coffee mug, no papers or books, just modern vapidness. She would be hard-pressed to find even one piece of lint on the floor. Was Philip's style an unconscious expression of some sort of obsessive-compulsiveness? Had it been birthed from…

"Hermione?"

"Yes," she answered, posture straightening.

"Philip's assistant will escort you to the gallery," Fleur informed her. "I'll see you soon."

"Great." Hermione picked up her briefcase, hoping that in the process it may scuff the floor somehow. Was she being overly judgmental? Possibly.

The assistant walked Hermione to a closed door. She watched him open it with a scan card.

"I will be just outside."

"Thanks," Hermione said, leaving him to stand on the other side of the door. Then she saw them: Camilla's Lapouge's work. She had no doubts, even though she'd only been in the room for a moment. Still, she placed her briefcase on the floor and opened it, making sure to scrape the case along the flooring for good measure. Then with a large smile, Hermione walked up to _Another Blue Night _and began her first proper assessment for the Delacour Foundation.

After reading Camilla's journal, this painting was especially striking to Hermione; in the darkness of twilight four women in various stages of undress are tangled together as they swim toward the surface of a body of water. Above, a sinister figure blending into silhouetted trees awaits them. The women search and labor to reach the surface, but theirs will never to be a happy arrival.

Hermione compared Caudet's signature to the copies she brought with her. She never published her theory that there were subtle differences to how he signed Camilla's pieces compared to his own creations, especially the supposedly 'innovative' fingerprints he put on sculpture casts. On the sculptures, his prints were more pronounced and held a certain defiant energy to them. On _Another Blue Night_ his name was not painted. Rather, it scratched through at least two layers of paint. To Hermione that communicated his anger and obvious chauvinism. Did Camilla tell Caudet that he was the shadowed villain or did he figure it out himself?

The second piece was of sketch of two lovers. Hermione recognized the couple from seeing Caudet's sculpture of the same drawing. The woman's expression was loving and forlorn. The man's face looked off into the future, showing ambition and his distancing from the present, and from the lover in his arms. Hermione put her notes back in her briefcase and walked towards the assistant.

"I'm done. Thank you," she said, feeling vaguely somber from the tone of Camilla's pieces.

"Follow me, Ms. Granger."

Upon entering Phillip's office, Hermione saw Fleur and felt an instant surge of camaraderie. Fleur smiled with the question in her eyes and Hermione answered with a bright smile and affirming glance; what they both hoped for was actually happening!

Philip looked between the women. "I believe I see a purchase happening?"

"Yes," Fleur confirmed. "When can my lawyer expect the paperwork?"

"Give me two days."

Fleur stared at him pointedly. "One day."

There was silence for a moment. Hermione shuddered to think what the Caudet Estate could accomplish in two days with an ethically compromised person such as Philip Lehner.

He spoke first. "A signed contract between you and me today and the completed paper work in two days. There are some sensitive conversations that have to happen," he admitted. "But don't worry my lawyer is the best."

Fleur's eyes became sharper than blades, yet they also held a strange flirtation behind them. "You promised them to someone?" she questioned.

"What is a promise from the past when faced presently with Fleur Delacour?" Philip asked, moving his thin lips into a sordid smile.

Hermione took a calming breath to restrain herself from grimacing at their mutual flirtation.

Fleur turned to her. "Hermione, I can meet you back at the hotel after Philip and I sort out some details." Her expression showed that her day would be long.

Hermione reluctantly nodded. "Okay."

Philip turned towards Hermione."Goodbye Ms. Granger. It was a pleasure to meet you," he said with fake pleasantry.

"Goodbye Mr. Lehner," she replied formally, grateful that he didn't try to kiss her hand or cheeks like he did with Fleur. She didn't want to leave her new comrade behind with him, but she let herself out of the office.

A fresh day in Vienna awaited Hermione, but she knew she would be gloomily thinking of Fleur and Camilla.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hi! I'm so glad you're here. Thank you for all your support!**

**My dear beta is very under the weather, so this is a rogue chapter that was edited while a friend's cute, little parrot was trying to bite my fingers. **

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><p>Hermione heard a knock and a woman's voice say "room service". She looked at the time; it was almost midnight and the voice was undoubtedly Fleur's. Getting up from her desk, she felt stiffness in her back and neck. Hermione wouldn't normally spend ten plus hours in an uncomfortable chair brooding repeatedly over notes and researching in esoteric databases when there were so many museums to explore, but she was so tense since leaving Philip's office. Usually Ginny was the only one who could pull Hermione out of her stress-induced research spirals. Thankfully, seeing a smiling Fleur holding a wine bottle was a surprisingly successful redirection.<p>

"Shall we enjoy this celebratory wine?" Fleur asked.

"We got them!" Hermione squealed, elated.

"Of course," Fleur said, gliding past her to place the bottle on the table.

The blonde looked tired yet still radiant, giving Hermione the sudden urge to perform both spectrophotometric and colormetric analyses on Fleur's hair cuticles; a proper chroma measure would...

"Are you listening, Hermione?"

The brunette snapped her head up, making deliberate eye contact with Fleur. "Yes! Please go on."

"He also agreed to make one of his collections available to the Delacour Foundation to exhibit publicly just like I said he would."

"Well done, Fleur. I think you might be slowly giving your foundation a soul."

Fleur gave a mock-defiant look as she turned a corkscrew into the wine. "Most organizations have light _and_ a bit of the dark in them; Horace Slughorn for instance."

"Yes. Though, you didn't seem to mind working with him to procure my contract," Hermione replied. It was her turn to jokingly chide Fleur.

"I do what I need to. Right now I need to drink this wine."

Hermione went to the mini bar and grabbed two glasses. As she handed them to Fleur, her excitement at their success grew. She watched Fleur pour the burgundy liquid. Sharing a glance, the blonde smiled before passing a glass to Hermione.

"To Camilla," Hermione said cheerfully.

"To Camilla _and _your expertise," Fleur replied.

They drank their wine standing and a quiet contentedness filled the air. Hermione was quite happy until she saw a subtle heaviness move into Fleur's demeanor. It was fleeting, but not quicker than Hermione's powers of observation.

"Was it bad, Fleur? Philip, I mean," she asked tentatively.

Fleur put her glass down. "Breakfast in the morning?"

"Sure." Hermione didn't want to push the subject. Fleur eyes did speak in the absence of words though; it hadn't been the worst night, but it wasn't close to pleasant either.

Leaving, Fleur was halfway through the door when she paused. "Good night and sweetest of dreams, Hermione Granger."

"Good night," Hermione replied, watching the door close.

She thought of Fleur's parting words while sipping her wine. "Fleur Delacour," Hermione said aloud, feeling the familiar warmth in her chest from the alcohol. She allowed pensive thoughts for the French woman to come and smiled when along with them also came a new fondness for her; Hermione was never short on empathy, except of course for villains, whom she could create a long list of in the art world. For years the Delacour Foundation was a bothersome presence on the edges of Hermione's life. But now separate from that, Fleur was starting to come into focus.

She continued musing until remembering her original plan for the rest of the night. Hermione glanced at Camilla's journal from the corner of her eye and readied herself; it was quite dispiriting to witness someone's journey from despondency into psychosis, especially when it was written in their own words. But she re-filled her glass and decidedly went back to work.

It was the middle of the night when she read a troubling entry during the time period when Camilla had sequestered herself in rural France.

_How could such a joining make new love? I fear what she and I will become._

Hermione's mind was reeling from Camilla's words; had she birthed a child that was never officially documented? If so, the Delacour's held what could be the only proof of the girl's existence! Fleur's passing moments of sorrow were somehow connected to Camilla's tragic fate. But how? Most consequential, what happened to Camilla's daughter?

When Hermione finally slept, it wasn't very restful.

...

….

Hermione lifted her coffee. Smelling the dark, creamy beverage made her happy after such a sleepless night.

Fleur smiled. "Looking at you, one would think you were drinking ambrosia from the Gods themselves."

"Well, I had a very long night with the journal and some fitful sleep after," she replied, wanting to tell her exactly why, but knowing Fleur's mysterious grief was somehow bound to Camilla made her feel awkward. "I really need a pick-me-up today," she said instead.

Fleur gave a sympathetic face. "I hope the caffeine works."

"Me too. You know, coffee is one topic I've not published a paper on. Though, the socio-political liberalization effect of coffee houses across Europe in relation to the arts would be a captivating topic actually."

"You've already managed to create a prolific amount of articles, Hermione," Fleur teased.

"And you know this because of your spies working on the Camilla project?" Hermione asked, teasing right back.

"I have read all of your published work," Fleur replied nonchalantly, pouring cream into her coffee.

Hermione fumbled with her cup, spilling its contents in the process.

"Does that make you uncomfortable, Hermione?"

"No, of course not. I mean…Yes, a little," she confessed, realizing how strange it was to be collaborating with someone who kept tabs on her career for the last 5 years.

Fleur shook her head at Hermione. "I wish you knew how special you are. I see your mind working almost every moment. Yet," she flashed a smile, "what's singular about you is all the passionate feelings you have. Don't you understand that most people who are always in their mind don't feel art as you do?"

Hermione shuffled in discomfort. "Ron says my scientific mind mixed with so many feelings makes me cross."

"He is a fool," Fleur declared, sounding very cross herself. Then her expression became reflective. "I do think your mind distracts you at times though."

"I've been told that recently," Hermione agreed, looking down as she moved eggs around with her fork. "I have the capacity for an incredible amount of focus; but lately it seems that when I'm not actively concentrating, I get distracted by questions."

"Maybe you need unstructured time where you can ponder with abandon."

Hermione pursed her lips in thought. "I could plan that in somehow."

"That's not exactly what I meant," Fleur replied, releasing an amused smile. "When was the last time you took a holiday?"

"I took a week off to organize my library after completing my thesis three years ago," Hermione answered. She drank her coffee wondering if she could manage a holiday after her year contract is up. It would probably take her that long just to get comfortable with the idea.

"Hermione, may I ask what your relationship to art was like when you were younger?"

"Well, as a teen, science diverted me from art because it changed my relationship with beauty. Then I found out I could merge both together. Along the way I managed to find a balance."

"You are most fascinating, even more so than your articles," Fleur remarked.

The brunette blankly stared back, somewhat stunned. Unbeknownst to Fleur, her blue eyes had a new and particularly nerve-racking ability to pierce into Hermione's.

"Should we stop talking about you?" Fleur asked.

"Yes, please," Hermione said, her eyes pleading

"We have two appointments next week, Lyon and Marseille."

"Okay," Hermione said, tapping her fork as a thought hit her; one that further proved Hermione's belief that there would no holidays in her near future. "Fleur, I just realized that I'm going to need to publish a quantitative analysis on Camilla's pieces, otherwise your Foundation will likely get sued by the Caudet Estate the day her exhibit opens. I'll need to properly thread together all of my findings or we will be facing a—"

"A scandal," Fleur predicted.

"Yes, basically," Hermione agreed.

"It will cause upheaval no matter what, but getting sued could delay any tour, so it should be done." Fleur started cutting into her omelet, not noticing when Hermione began looking at her fretfully.

"Fleur?" Hermione whispered as she felt last night's emotions sneaking up into her chest and throat again.

The blonde moved closer at Hermione's sudden despondent tone. "Yes, what's wrong?"

"Camilla had a baby girl, didn't she?" Hermione asked, her earlier reservations gone.

Fleur nodded, her features turning somber as she looked at Hermione.

"How did you get it, Fleur, the journal? Who else knows?"

"I made a promise, Hermione. That is what I will tell you now," she answered. "My relationship to art has never been frivolous as those who judge my family's foundation tend to think. Just like you, I work for the public good."

"I see that now," Hermione said, regretful for her earlier judgments. "I respect you and this work, Fleur. I'm happy to help, whatever you decide to disclose."

"Thank you."

She said the words softly, making everything feel very still. Before this moment Hermione had seen glimmers of Fleur emotions; now looking into her eyes, she was taken aback by a sudden window into Fleur's passion and grief. Like watching the moon rise, for a short time Fleur seemed so intimately close before the moment floated silently away, casting doubt on whether the connection Hermione thought she felt had even happened. For so quickly, it became a regular morning again with only breakfast and schedules left behind. Fleur poured her second coffee and began talking of flights to book.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I went a little out there for this chapter. I hope it's agreeable to ya'll. I should be wrapping this story up soon. I do hate how many incomplete fics I have going at the moment. I'm sure it's giving me bad fic karma somehow.**

****I would be remiss not to thank you for your compliments -every review, fav, and follow I deeply appreciate.****

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><p><em>How many more voices will I hear tonight? I dip my brush. I push them away.<em>

Hermione read the lines four times before closing the journal. She looked at Fleur; her face was tense in concentration. Blonde tendrils released by a loosened ponytail lined her cheeks. Hermione was reminded of light reflecting off water and of the painting she saw in Fleur's office. It seemed ages ago since she first saw the female baker.

"What is it, Hermione?"

"Just thinking," she replied.

"I always assume that. But what are you thinking of?"

Hermione looked at her wine glass suspiciously. She was glad to be in France and to have celebrated their most recent acquisitions, but maybe there had been _too_ much celebrating. "Did we finish a whole bottle?"

Fleur nodded. "What's on your mind?"

Hermione realized she must have been staring at Fleur for some time for her to notice. "I was thinking of Camilla, and then I was watching you concentrate. After that, well, I'm not sure really."

Fleur gave Hermione an inquisitive look. "How are you feeling?"

"Well, honesty I'm sloshed."

Fleur stretched her back before resuming her examination of Hermione. "Sloshed and earnest as usual, Hermione," she joked. "You know for some reason I can't imagine you lying."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, I've lied."

"Really?" Fleur teased.

"Yes, well mostly for the sake of the arts of course. There is always some fudging that has to happen for the proper funding to work out."

Fleur smiled, causing the brunette to look down as she remembered the train of thought she had moments before: light reflecting off an ocean of silvery hair. She wouldn't mention that though, no matter how much alcohol was in her system. "And, there are those little lies to avoid awkward situations," Hermione added sheepishly.

"Like everyone does," Fleur replied.

Hermione focused her mind on Fleur's words, but the conversation was lost somehow. "I'm sorry— too much wine. Everyone does what?"

"Everyone lies," Fleur clarified, appearing tired now as if the very thought of it sapped her energy.

"It's true, isn't it," Hermione agreed solemnly.

The atmosphere quieted again. Fleur tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and went back to staring at her laptop, presumably resuming her research of private collectors and galleries. Hermione knew she should be working too, meticulously crafting the analysis which will hopefully serve to protect all of their efforts. But soaking herself in Camilla's world and drinking too much wine was proving very unproductive.

"I simply can't work anymore," Hermione lamented.

Fleur lifted her gaze. "There are so_ many_ things we can do besides work."

Hermione saw a flash of something in Fleur's eyes and knew the night could become so different very quickly. She recollected the handful of times over the course of their week in France when the air between them changed. Hermione did what she always did though; she smiled and rustled some papers, feigning some semblance of professionalism. Meanwhile, an alternate universe of sorts snuck into her mind— one where she didn't ignore Fleur's subtle and spontaneous flirtations. She really shouldn't drink this much...

...

...

Hermione crossed her arms, then uncrossed them again. Her patience left long ago and had been replaced with fury; they waited at least a half an hour before being told that the bastard wasn't even in his office for their meeting. Apparently they spent six hours on a plane to Stockholm to communicate with this collector remotely! Hermione's agitation was very much starting to show. Fleur's demeanor, on the other hand, was calm and collected.

A nameless associate put down his phone before addressing them. "You are allowed entry into the gallery, but the briefcase must stay behind."

"Excellent," Fleur replied graciously. "Excuse us for a moment please."

"Certainly, Ms. Delacour," he answered.

Once he left, Hermione immediately bristled. "Fleur, I'm not going in there without my tools. I need to collect publishable data."

"You can collect that afterwards. Remember that I chose you for a reason. Stop hiding behind your empirical data and admit you usually know right away whether or not a piece is Camilla's."

"At times, but to drop hundreds of thousands of dollars without— Fleur, what are you doing?"

Fleur was walking up to Hermione with no signs of stopping. When she was less than a foot away she said, "Look at me like you would a painting; use your intuition. What do you see?"

"Excuse me?"

"Look at me and tell me what you see," Fleur repeated.

Harry's old advice passed into Hermione's mind, as his words tended to do; she huffed. "And how would examining you help our predicament?"

"I want to prove a point," she answered.

"Alright," Hermione replied nonchalantly, even though she was anxious. She looked into Fleur's eyes. "You're sad, Fleur. You've lost someone or something and Camilla's project is an extension of your own grief."

"Yes," Fleur agreed.

Hermione continued to look at the blonde, her mind spinning as she tried to link Camilla's life to Fleur's. "And—"

"And what? Why don't you tell me what you've noticed and ignored about me and you?"

A new ruthlessness emanated from Fleur. It reminded Hermione of that fateful day, the one where she saw Fleur angry —the day her charisma and Camilla's story propelled Hermione to board a plane to Vienna. Hermione thought of all she left behind; has she been knowingly spiraling into a rabbit hole of Fleur's making this whole time? Hermione knew what Fleur was asking for: she wanted her to admit to the energy that snuck into moments they shared. Hermione wasn't ready to bring it out of the ether though. It was easier for it to stay an abstraction, a murmur in the back of her mind. A few more seconds passed before Hermione finally relented. "You want me," she whispered almost inaudibly.

"What was that?" Fleur asked.

"You want me!" Hermione almost yelled, exasperated.

"What else? I know you can dig deeper."

"Fine," Hermione said, crossing her arms. "You've chased after the symbols of Camilla and me for so long that they have morphed into infatuation."

"And?" Fleur said, pressing her further.

"And, it isn't real. That's what I see." As she said it, Hermione couldn't dismiss the realization that the thought hurt.

"Yes and no," Fleur replied. "A very astute observation—but what is real? Aren't we all Impressionists, dear Hermione? We see beauty or pain and we are moved by it. So, we make it our own or it was already ours to begin with. What makes that fake?"

"Fleur," Hermione sighed, extremely flustered by their conversation.

"I repeat, what makes it fake?" Fleur asked, persistent.

"Alright! Just because something isn't real per se, doesn't make it fake."

"Finally! Yes, Caudet's pieces are an illusion _and_ they are real. Their emotion touches us." Fleur grazed a finger across Hermione's hand. "I can touch you. You are my fantasy. There is an illusion I've imprinted upon you— but what's behind it is real and you are real." Motionless, Hermione stared at their hands. Fleur removed her finger. "I need you to walk into that room, see pass Caudet's illusion and find out if whether Camilla is there behind it."

Hermione's brain rapidly bypassed Fleur's innuendos and went straight to the core of her request; she found herself considering it. Fleur's plan worked and more surprising was that Hermione stopped being bothered by it; she was hooked once again, willingly falling down the rabbit hole.

"How much time do I have with the painting?" Hermione asked, attempting to introduce some sort of professionalism into their conversation.

Fleur made an apologetic face. "I suspect he'll give you twenty minutes."

"Fleur!" Hermione groaned in frustration.

"Just Remember Camilla locked in an asylum until her death, her life and work tainted by the lies of men."

"But this obsession—"

"It is easy to call highly motivated people obsessed. Haven't you noticed?"

This struck a chord with Hermione as she assumed Fleur knew it would. Since childhood she has been repeatedly called obsessive. "Okay, I'll do it," she said, finally conceding.

"Thank you."

Hermione saw happiness in Fleur and couldn't deny she was glad to see it. "You!" she said, still exasperated yet smiling.

"Me?" Fleur replied, feigning innocence.

"Yes, you." Hermione shook her head. "What will I do with you?"

Fleur's expression turned sinful. "Haven't you figured it out yet, Hermione? You can do whatever you want with me."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Hi there! You are here and that is why I am too. Thank you for the reviews: its the contact with folks that makes fanfic work for me. I deeply appreciate it. :) **

**Pardon the brevity of this chapter. I will try to make the next one longer.**

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><p>She moved silently through the entrance of the gallery. Reaching the painting immediately, Hermione stared vacantly at its outline; Fleur was still tugging at her from the adjoining room. Like gravity, the pull was familiar. But now the tension which had been building and undeniably swept under the rug over the past few weeks was a blaring presence in Hermione's mind. How had this precarious bond become more complex than any she had before? It's rich textures and dynamism reached Hermione on many levels, but it also made her restless and nervous. Fleur played games and was in a state of obvious grief, a bad combination. Hermione cursed her pattern of frustratingly awkward and stunted romantic connections. She rubbed her eyes and when they opened again, she finally saw the painting before her with clear vision.<p>

In that moment Hermione didn't have to face the arrival of Fleur's disclosure; she only had to be an art conservationist. A very good one at that, it took her less than two minutes to tell that this was not Camilla's work. It wasn't even a Caudet.  
>…<p>

…

"It's a fake," Hermione said angrily. "Can we leave these criminals now, Fleur?"

Fleur immediately stood up. "Yes." She turned to the gallery attendant. "Please tell your employer he will be hearing from the authorities shortly."

He cocked his head, but his job wasn't to argue. Opening the door, he escorted them out. When they got outside, Hermione immediately found a wall to lean on. She closed her eyes, trying desperately to contain her anger.

"Hermione, are you are alright?"

"Manganese Blue, Fleur. It wasn't invented until 1935! How many paintings have those criminals sold?"

"They won't any longer."

Hermione's eyes opened to Fleur's smile. "They won't, will they?"

"Thanks to you."

They shared a moment of comradery before Hermione saw Fleur's eyes become distressed.

"Hermione…forgive me for treating you so inappropriately. The last thing I'd ever want is you to feel harassed. I forgot myself."

Hermione touched Fleur's shoulder, hoping her friend could see that she wasn't angry. "I have to admit your pep talk was a bit shocking. But, please don't be sad. Of course I accept your apology."

Fleur looked relieved. "I'm so grateful for that."

"Let's get tea," Hermione said, looking around for a café. She wanted to somehow normalize their situation as soon as possible. They started walking, but then Fleur stopped. "I think we should take some time off."

"But what about our next appointment…and the research?" Hermione was too frazzled to hide her disappointment.

"I just need a little time. It's true that I have my own grief attached to this project and my actions today have reminded me that don't want my goals to become twisted…I don't want to hurt our work relationship."

"Okay, I guess there is plenty of data for me to work on in the mean time." _But I hate the idea_ is what Hermione wanted to say. Why couldn't she?

"Good." Fleur put her arm out to call a taxi. She still looked incredibly sad.

"What about getting tea?" Hermione asked, anxiety growing in her chest from Fleur's sadness and unexpected departure.

"I'm going to fly out today and I have some errands to run." A car stopped and Fleur raised a finger to signal the driver to wait. She looked back at Hermione. "Just enjoy some freedom from me and all this darkness I've brought." Fleur looked like she was almost going to kiss Hermione's cheek in farewell, but then she stopped herself and instead gave an uncertain smile. "Goodbye, Hermione."

Hermione fidgeted in her stress; she hated Fleur leaving like this. "I'll keep you updated on my progress."

"Sure," Fleur replied as she lowered herself into the car.

Hermione watched her speak to the driver. Why couldn't she just be honest and tell Fleur she didn't want her to go? Then the car was moving and she felt Fleur's pull on her painfully stretch out —would it still hold the shape it had before today?


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hi there! Thank you for the encouraging reviews,follows, favs. They bring me these sweet little bursts of glee. sorry this is short.**

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><p>Touching the elevator button, Hermione couldn't ignore how vastly different she felt compared to when she first walked into the Delacour building. In the place of righteous indignation were the frayed nerves of a woman who had spent sixteen hour days in front of a computer for three weeks straight. First she waited for a phone call. Giving up on that, she waited for an email. Embarrassingly, she also repeatedly composed innocuous, never delivered texts.<p>

_Intrusion_—the word repeatedly taunted Hermione. But here she was riding in an elevator, hoping to catch Fleur, the person who came into her life quickly and left just as fast. Admittedly though, Hermione knew this narrative wasn't completely accurate. In actuality Fleur had been on edges of Hermione's life for five years, turning her attention on and off until the critical day when some mysterious shift in Fleur's consciousness occurred, bringing with it a new urgency to avenge Camilla Lapouge.

The doors opened and Hermione's eyes gravitated to the baker on the wall. Nostalgia pinched Hermione's chest as she recollected Fleur's greeting on her first day of work. When she turned from the painting, Fleur's assistant was looking at her.

"Hermione, good morning. May I help you?"

Hermione pulled at her loose bun, feeling suddenly disheveled. "Yes, good morning. Is Fleur in today?"

"I'm sorry, she's still out. Would you like to leave a note?"

"No, thank you. I just wanted to see how she's doing."

Adele leaned forward. "Well, last year Fleur disappeared for a month," she replied in the low voice people use for gossiping.

"That's true," Hermione agreed, pretending to understand. Not wanting to raise suspicion, she thought very carefully of her next words. The frayed, upset part of Hermione's mind didn't care that she was about to lie -it was an unanticipated development she would deal with later.

Finally settling on a statement she hoped was acceptable enough to glean information. Hermione added, "But wouldn't it be different now?"

Adele shook her head. "An anniversary is an anniversary. This season is always hard for her."

Hermione nodded in solemn agreement. "You're right…Well, hopefully we'll both see her soon. Take care, Adele."

"You too."

Hermione turned to leave. It was imperative that she exited quickly. Adele's disclosure was of course the saddest, simplest answer. Hermione knew it in the back of her mind the whole time. Someone dear to Fleur was gone from her life -irrevocably. The familiar burn of fresh tears entered Hermione's eyes as the elevator doors closed.

…

…

She took her phone out to put it on the table. Anyone close to Hermione would raise an eyebrow at this because they knew that cell phones annoyed Hermione almost as much as Horace Slughorn. But her friends weren't there. She sat in a café alone with the glaring anomaly sitting next to her cup, set at full volume and vibrate.

It was a strange feeling, _waiting by the phone,_ so to speak. But that was exactly what she was doing. Ten minutes earlier Hermione rashly texted Fleur after drinking two cups of coffee. Unfortunately, right afterward time seemed to pass at a glacial pace. Out of habit she looked at her watch every few minutes even though the phone in front of her showed the time.

Hermione was staring at her third cup of coffee when she heard her phone finally beep. She impatiently swiped the screen for Fleur's answer.

_Hello Hermione. If we were in the same place I would visit a museum with you, alas I'm in Paris._

Hermione fervently tapped her reply.

_Tomorrow then. Gustave Moreau museum. Noon._

Hermione could feel Fleur's silence. She ignored it and lifted her laptop out of her bag. She was going to book a flight to Paris.


End file.
